The Maze Runner- My Version
by livixbobbiex
Summary: To keep this short, this is a rewrite of the book. Essentially the same plot, but with quite a fair amount of differences (I liked the plot but was not a massive fan of the way it was put on paper). Give it a read :)


**AN: So, my friend challenged me to rewrite The Maze Runner. So here I am, trying my best. It will stick to the canon plot, but there will be quite a few differences. Reviews with honest opinions would be much appreciated :) Enjoy. Disclaimer: This entire series belongs to James Dashner. **

The boy opened his eyes when the whole world began to shake. He blinked a few times, not sure what to make of this dark room. It was similar to when you wake up without enough sleep, and for hours you're practically a zombie. Yeah, he thought, something like that. It was just a few moments, though, before he realised the room was travelling _up_. A lift, then, and an old one at that. The metal box's movements jerked him viciously from side to side, so hard he stumbled. One particularly nasty jolt forced him to the cold, hardened floor.

Instinctively he scrambled backwards, as if there was some way out. It was then that he got a decent look. Above him, all he could see was darkness. The only lights were flashing rapidly, like they'd never been maintained. The effect caused him to become massively nauseous. It was about then that he realised he was probably prone to motion sickness. Huh. He probably should have already known that, right?

But why _didn't _he know? The more he thought about it, the more terrified he became. General knowledge was there. He could name the first US President, picture a farm, recall the bitter taste of pickles. But when was his birthday, though? What was his mom's name? Favourite colour? All blank.

"Thomas," he said aloud, just to check it was real. "My name's Thomas." But Thomas what? He didn't appear to have a surname. If he did, he couldn't remember it. At least he knew his name, even if it_ was_ the onlything.

Thomas, much better sounding than just a masculine pronoun, slumped against the wall. This whole thing didn't make sense. Amnesia. He snorted despite himself. Who got _that _anymore? Aside from practically walking out of a soap opera, and feeling like he was going to barf any second, he appeared to be fine.

The lift just kept going up. Seriously, how deep _was _he? Thomas took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The ride never got any smoother, but eventually he began to adjust. It had to lead him somewhere, he just knew it. A twisting his stomach, not shaky room induced, told him it wasn't exactly going to be The Ritz. Dust filled his lungs, causing an almost choke. That's all it smelt of, really.

Slowly, so slowly he thought his eyes were tricking him, he began to see a lack of endless darkness. Unfortunately, it didn't make any memories miraculously spring to mind. He stood then, trying to get a better view of his new surroundings. He could have spent hours in that shaft, or maybe even seconds. Whichever it was, it didn't seem to matter.

It suddenly halted, causing Thomas to again loose his balance. The lift shuddered for a while, before becoming completely still. Nerve-racking as it was, Thomas became more and more intrigued. That didn't stop him from panicking when nobody came to rescue him, though.

He bashed the walls with his fists, crying for help. It didn't come, no matter how hard he tried. Now it was not so much curiosity but the need to get the hell out of there. "Help me!" Thomas screamed until his throat was dry. He felt that perhaps he was on the brink of tears, which would have been _really _embarrassing. Something told him it was not his place to cry, at least not publically.

A cranking sound. Thomas looked up to the sky hopefully, as if some diety itself was coming to rescue him. A slit of light passed through. The line began to get bigger, gradually filling the whole room. Then all he saw were hands and all he heard were voices.

He was dizzy somehow. Disorientated, even. Eventually his vision began to adjust the brightness, and he could finally focus. There were lots of eyes above, looking down at him like he was some kind of wild animal in a zoo. They were all boys, no older than twenty, no younger than about ten. He didn't really understand what they were saying, but it sounded like a foreign language. Their faces should have meant nothing to him, yet he felt somewhat guilty for not recognising them.

Eventually the chatter died down, and an unstable looking rope was lowered. Hesitantly, Thomas took hold of it, and without warning he was yanked up towards the surface. The kids had stopped gawping, now reaching their hands down to help him. Perhaps he should have felt better on solid ground, but in truth he would gladly jump back into the abyss.

"Nice to meet ya, shank," a boy said, probably the leader. "Welcome to the Glade."


End file.
